Like Flynn

I hear Dirty Boy is working on a novel. I wonder if I'm in it!

If not, I'm sure I could still see clear to put aside my cameraphobia and pose with him for a bodice-ripping cover. With him, I said. Not freaking Fabio. Cuz yuck.

Oh, also, I know that this will shock and awe you, but Johnny did not, in fact, caulk the shower yesterday. He spent the whole day on the couch watching stupid tv. I made an apple pie, I folded laundry (which may also shock and awe you), I swept five bags of leaves up off of the sidewalk.

Johnny watched Men in Black. He watched The Librarian. I think I might have even caught him watching Happy Gilmore. Considering that Johnny never manages to spend an entire day doing nothing like this, it didn't really bother me too much. He's not working this week. He can caulk tomorrow. What's one more day, in the grand scheme of things?

But then at 8:05 p.m. he managed to pry his ass from the couch to run in and tell me that "It started!"

"It did?" I said, gathering my water bottle, soda can, and coffee cup. "It's not supposed to start till 8:15!"

"Not the game," he said. "A Christmas Story!"

Now, Christmas Story happens to be my favorite Christmas movie. They also happen to show the thing a thousand times between Thanksgiving and New Year's, plus, if I'm not mistaken, we own the DVD. It was not time to watch A Christmas Story right now. It was time to watch my boys issue their weekly display of utter domination.

But, being the big-hearted woman that I am, and not wishing to introduce disharmony this far into what had been a fairly lazy and good-humored Sunday, I decided to let him watch his movie on the couch. I could watch the bloodbath from the bedroom.

Except the massacre was cancelled and there was a game instead. More interesting to watch, for certain, but come on -- we almost lost! The blame for which I place wholly on my husband's head.

By 11:00 (Patriots 24, Eagles 28 -- and halfway through A Christmas Story for the second time ) Johnny was fast asleep. I crept out and watched the fourth quarter sitting on his toes. Thanks to this, mostly (and a little help from the YACman), the boys in blue managed to pull a final touchdown out of their collective heinies.

(Actually, they pulled two, but there was this guy in garish black-and-white who made believe one of them didn't count.)

So they won. And they've made it to the playoffs (surprise, surprise). But from now on, I don't care if God himself is talking straight to Johnny through the TV in the living room. I will not be going through that agony again.

And he's caulking that g-d shower stall today, or else I'm cancelling the cable.

So there.